


but the fire is coming

by allisonmartined



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Guns, Robbery, Vigilantism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonmartined/pseuds/allisonmartined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were always two different forces, crashing towards one another. Except, now, now, they are colliding, melding, shaping into something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but the fire is coming

**Author's Note:**

> A Bonnie & Clyde -ish AU. Except not.

It was easy at first; the slight thrill against her fingertips, the blood beneath her skin.

 

There's a gun against her thigh, shiny and bright, the angular shape cutting, pushing, reminding her. It's more of a precaution, a distraction. They don't use the bullets, all brutal and cruel at first. They have better ways, simpler ways, ways more cutting and damaging, that cut right down to the bone.

 

He's sitting on the counter, pulling and pushing and clicking at the sleek black handgun in his hands. There are shapes carved and curled around the barrel, white and strong. They hum to her from across the room, the ward warning her and she frowns. She grabs her own gun from her holster, holding it up to the sunlight. Her runes are lighter, more covert. They speak of _accuracy_ and _finality_ while Merlin's whisper _protection_ and _safety_.

 

They were always two different forces, crashing towards one another. Except, now, now, they are colliding, melding, shaping into something else.

 

 _Should I redo them_ , she asks, tilting the gun away from both of them, so he can see the runes. He glances up at her faces and then inquisitively towards the barrel of the gun. _I don't think so_ , he hums. She gives him a short nod, and he slides off the counter and slips an arm around her waist. She sinks down into him, her head resting on his shoulder. _Last one?_ he says, and she can hear the grin in his voice, the slight thrum of him in the dip between his neck and shoulder. She nips at the skin there, sliding her teeth over skin, _Last one._

 

  
They robbed one bank, then two then three, returning the money in the dead of night, just to prove they could, for practice. He would laugh into her skin later; they don't think about the wrongness of it, but she sees it beneath his eyes, like a slow throb. _It's the only way_ , he says weakly before the first time and she believes him, believes _it_ , because it's true. But the morality slips over his skin, burns him, and she bites at his lips, licks into his mouth to soothe the ache.

 

They only used the magic in their fingertips, those times. The guns came later, when Merlin was shot in the shoulder and Morgana demanded with pursed lips and yellow, burning eyes that they would need protection. She had layed her fingers over the hole in his skin and bone and muscle, felt them knit together until he was whole and safe. Morgana slept for four days after that and she woke up to a sleek handgun on her nightstand.

 

She slid the gun back into the holster around her thigh and pulled her dress down over it, the hem laying just inches below. He slid on his jacket and raised an eyebrow, a _Ready?_ And she takes his hand and breathes.

 

He says they stole the car. She says they persuaded someone to give it to them. It's an argument that she's pretty certain they will never not have. _Persuaded_ , she's saying, with inflection. And he grins through a _Morgana_. It's an old argument, like so many of theirs now. It's words that mean nothing and everything. It's a joke, and it's a kiss. Merlin thrums his fingers over the steering wheel and she laughs.

 

They slip out of the car, and head towards the drab, cement building. To the onlooker, it's nothing. It's an office building, cubicles and out-of-date computers. But they know what is hidden in the basement; it's the seventh on the list.

 

Merlin unlocks the doors and fools the keypads with tiny jolts of magic. It won't work later, in the basement, they have the guns and pockets of gadgets for that. But the magic works here, tricks the alarms, unlocks the doors, and it's enough.

 

There's a guard, and then two and four. She throws them against walls, yellow flashes of eyes, knocking them out. Merlin's hand ghosts against her wrist, keeping her alert, keeping her in control, and they flee towards the steps, descending into darkness.

 

The darkness never surprises her.

 

When they reach the final floor, the B glaring at them in shining red, they slide their guns out of their holsters. She glances at him, touches her head to his temple, for just a moment. _Last one?_ she whispers. _Last one_ , he says.

 

Morgana shoots the first guard and the second and when the third gets a shot in, Merlin fires his, a protective shield manifesting around them. It goes like that for what feels like hours; shoot, shoot, shield, over and over.

 

The glass cells are filled with witches and warlocks, magic humming around each magic-locked cell. Merlin expertly unlocks each one, and she breathes, slow and easy. She leads them out of the building, gun poised and ready.

 

 

 

Later, she will lay against him, skin against skin, heart beats thrumming together, and he will hum into her skin, _They're safe. They're good. We saved them._ The fire behind her eyes settles.

 

 

 

 

It isn't the last one.


End file.
